


Winter's Fruit

by Johaerys



Series: This and This and This: Achilles & Patroclus [3]
Category: The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Anal Sex, Established Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-19
Updated: 2021-01-19
Packaged: 2021-03-18 06:41:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,689
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28862748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Johaerys/pseuds/Johaerys
Summary: "I want more."Patroclus glanced at the still barely touched piece of pomegranate in Achilles’ hand. Without a word, he dug into his own share, ready to give him half of it, when Achilles stopped him. “Not this.”Patroclus' look was one of earnest curiosity. "What, then?"Achilles leaned closer, close enough to smell the rich tartness of the fruit. “This,” he whispered as he flicked his tongue over Patroclus’ lips, tasting the sweetness of the pomegranate that mingled with the natural, earthy saltiness of his skin. “This is what I want.”***Some wintertime fluff and smut, featuring Achilles, Patroclus, and pomegranates :)
Relationships: Achilles/Patroclus, Achilles/Patroclus (Song of Achilles)
Series: This and This and This: Achilles & Patroclus [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1934749
Comments: 14
Kudos: 213





	Winter's Fruit

**Author's Note:**

> Achilles and Patroclus live rent free in my mind pretty much at all times, but this particular one shot came into being after some very serious contemplation, which went like this: if Achilles' favourite fruit is figs, and there are no fresh figs in winter, what does he eat then??
> 
> The answer was obvious. That boy likes 'em sweet, tart and seedy, what can I say
> 
> Please enjoy this shameless smutty one shot of the boys having fun during a cold, wintry night on Mt Pelion :)

The wind outside their small cave howled, making the leaves rustle on their boughs. The sweet notes of the lyre echoed in the enclosed space as Achilles plucked the strings, one by one. He stole a glance at Patroclus as he played, wrapped as he was in his thick buckskin cloak. He was holding it close against him to ward off the cold and damp that still clung to the stone despite the merry crackling of their fire. The firelight reflected in the liquid depths of his eyes and brought out the rich, tan goldness of his skin. Shadows pooled and shifted across his features, making them sharp where they were soft, hazy where they were defined. 

Achilles liked watching him. He often caught himself staring, more and more each day. Patroclus would never know how long Achilles spent just looking at him, cataloguing every detail and nuance in his expressions, his movements. At least, he pretended not to. 

Patroclus turned to look at Achilles when he set his lyre beside him and leaned back on his elbows atop the furs and rugs they’d spread close the fire to keep themselves warm. “Tired already?” he asked with a small smile.

“Mm-hmm. And cold.” He returned his smile with one of his own. “I could use some more warmth just about now.” 

“Here.” Patroclus tossed him a pelt, grinning when it landed it squarely on Achilles’ face. “Better now?”

Achilles huffed a laugh, playfully tossing the pelt back at him. The winters on Mount Pelion were cold, but no matter the weather, Achilles never felt too warm or too cold. Snow had been falling steadily since the day before, swirling this way and that every time the wind blew, and the ground beyond their cave was covered in frost. Soon, the thin grass that had been left over from spring would burn and shrivel, cold and forgotten underneath a thick blanket of snow.

There never was much snow in Phthia. The salty breeze did not agree with it. The gods of the seas had never been too fond of it, and they rarely ever tread that high up in the mountains anyway. The mountains were the territories of Boreas and the other gods of cold and northern winds, and nothing pleased them more than when the world was quiet and covered in white. There was a sort of beauty to it, to that inherent silence of snow, the purity of it. Achilles liked it. More than that, he liked how wide Patroclus’ eyes had been the first time he’d seen it when they'd first arrived at the mountain, how he’d stretched his palm out and watched all those fluffy white snowflakes land on his skin and melt soon after. His cheeks had been bright and rosy, his lips flushed, his colour high with his excitement. Achilles had liked that, most of all. 

He watched Patroclus lazily now, his arm curled under his head. His friend was fidgeting with a pomegranate, the first of the season. Achilles had plucked it from the tallest branch of the pomegranate tree himself. Patroclus’ long, delicate fingers were running smoothly over its skin now, tracing the ridges of its thick stem. Its crimson seeds would be sweet and tart, heavy with juice. 

“Aren’t you going to crack it open?” Achilles asked.

“Always so impatient,” Patroclus said with a small smile as his thumb dug in the thick skin of the fruit. It peeled apart in his hands, the red pips embedded in the pale underskin glistening in the light of the fire. The juice stained his fingers; he brought them up to his lips to taste.

“Well?” Achilles asked, pushing himself up on his elbow. “Is it good?”

Patroclus broke it in half and tossed it to him. Achilles caught it in the air, and didn’t waste a moment before tasting for himself. The fruit burst with sweetness, carrying the sharp and fresh taste of spring in the depths of winter. 

“Good, isn’t it?” Patroclus asked, noticing the satisfaction in Achilles’ expression. “You chose well.” He bit down on a thick part of the fruit, the juice running down his lips, his chin, rivulets of red that reflected the dancing amber light. 

The sight of the pomegranate juice arcing slowly down Patroclus’ neck lit a fire in Achilles’ core before he could rein it in. “It’s alright,” Achilles said, licking his fingers. “I want more.”

Patroclus blinked at him, glancing at the still barely touched fruit in Achilles’ hand. Without a word, he dug into his own share, ready to give him half of it, when Achilles crawled to him and caught his wrist. “Not this.”

Patroclus’ look was one of earnest curiosity. “What, then?”

Achilles leaned closer, close enough to smell the rich tartness of the fruit. “This,” he whispered, flicking his tongue over Patroclus’ lips, his chin. The sweetness of the pomegranate mingled with the natural, earthy saltiness of Patroclus’ skin. “This is what I want.”

Patroclus’ breath hitched, the pomegranate forgotten in his hands. He glanced up at him, a blush lighting up his cheeks. “There’s more of this, I think,” he whispered.

“Good." Achilles crawled over him, until Patroclus was lying underneath him. A small sigh left Patroclus’ lips when Achilles leaned down to kiss him, a soft sound that set every nerve of Achilles’ body aflame. His hand snaked between the folds of Patroclus’ cloak, pushing the pelt aside in his search for soft, warm skin. Patroclus was bare beneath the furs, wearing nothing but his thin tunic, which Achilles slid summarily off his slender shoulders. It wasn’t long before he was lying naked before him, his chest moving swiftly with his breaths. The crackling flames reflected in his large, doe-like eyes, dark and liquid in the night. They widened in surprise when Achilles took the remains of the pomegranate and squeezed it in his palm, letting the juice drop on Patroclus’ chest and stomach. 

“C-cold,” he gasped, pinpricks running all over his velvet smooth skin. Achilles smiled wolfishly, tracing Patroclus’ full, flushed lips with his damp fingers. 

“Yes, but it's sweet, isn’t it?” 

Patroclus’ tongue, pink and glistening, darted out to taste Achilles’ fingers. He moaned softly, taking them deeper in his mouth to suck, to taste. “Mm, yes,” he hummed, smiling. "Very." Achilles watched as that clever little tongue lapped every last trace of juice from his digits, his pulse becoming that much more erratic with every second that passed.

He dragged his fingers out of his mouth slowly, leaning down to replace them with his tongue. Achilles kissed him hungrily, revelling in Patroclus’ soft sighs and gasps. He trailed lower, licking and nipping at the smooth skin of his neck, tracing the tendons of his throat, the line of his collarbone. He hummed at the back of his throat when the rich tartness of the pomegranate hit his taste buds again, when he moved lower still. He lapped at the juice that had pooled in the dip below Patroclus’ ribcage, his bellybutton, the shiny red rivulets that trailed close to his navel. 

“You taste really good,” he whispered. He flicked his tongue over a raised nipple, glancing up at Patroclus. His cheeks were already pink by the fire, warm and luminous, his lids growing heavy with desire. “You know that?”

Slender fingers threaded through Achilles’ hair, caressing his scalp, the back of his neck. “And you _feel_ really good,” Patroclus said breathlessly, biting his bottom lip. His hips rose gently by instinct as Achilles nuzzled the thin trail of dark hair that led to his groin. There was a scent rising from him, olive soap and clean sweat, early jasmine blossoms and warm wet earth. Like the first spring rain after months of winter frost. It was intoxicating, flooding Achilles’ senses. He paused for a moment and reached for the pomegranate again. Patroclus tilted his head to the side, watching him curiously. 

"I didn't know you liked pomegranates that much," he said softly, his fingers running down the sides of Achilles' face. There was so much warmth and adoration in his gaze, that Achilles felt his heart soaring, his blood beating in his throat. The crimson juice sluiced through his fingers when he squeezed the remains of the fruit over Patroclus' already hardening length. Patroclus gasped, his hand on Achilles' shoulder tightening reflexively. 

"Still cold?" Achilles asked teasingly. The tip of Patroclus cock was glistening with the dew of his pleasure, and red swirls of pomegranate juice arced slowly down his shaft. A wave of sharp desire ran through Achilles' core at the sight, his mouth watering. 

Patroclus hummed softly, nodding. "A little."

"I should do something about that, then." Achilles smirked as his tongue darted out, flicking over the glistening head of Patroclus' shaft. It was smooth all over like carved wood, pink near its top like a perfect rose bud. The sharp and salty taste of him, mixed with the sweetness of the fruit, was enough to make Achilles’ head swim. A strangled moan left Patroclus’ lips when Achilles ran the flat of his tongue along the underside of his cock.

“Ah- yes-” Patroclus' grip on Achilles’ hair tightened by instinct when he took him in his mouth. He took him in slowly, almost reverentially, watching the expressions of pleasure that passed over Patroclus’ features like clouds. Patroclus was within his control, at the mercy of his tongue and lips, and the thought alone made him shiver. He hummed, taking him in deeper, as deep as he could go, feeling him stiffening and pulsing on his tongue. Patroclus rolled his hips in time with the movements of Achilles’ tongue, thrusting slowly in his mouth. Helpless pleas and whispers poured forth from his lips, muffled against the back of his hand as he tried to keep quiet, so Chiron wouldn’t hear. His sweet, gentle Patroclus, hanging by a thread, pleading for him. 

Achilles wouldn’t keep him waiting much longer.

He released him with a quiet pop, reaching for the vial of oil he kept close to his bedside. He dropped some of it on his palm, then reached down between Patroclus’ legs, smoothing it over his entrance. 

“Achilles…” he moaned softly when Achilles pushed a finger inside him. Patroclus’ hips rose to meet his hand, in sync with his thrusts. The colour on his cheeks warmed and darkened like a sunset, deep and golden pink, illuminated by the firelight. Achilles leaned down to kiss him, lapping up every moan and whisper from his lips as he opened him up slowly, carefully. 

“You’re so beautiful, Patroclus,” Achilles whispered, easing another finger inside him, watching him hungrily. “So warm. So soft.” He closed his teeth over Patroclus’ bottom lip, sucking it in his mouth, drunk on the exquisite sweetness of his tongue. The wind kept blowing outside, rustling through the trees, cold and biting, yet inside their cave was only him. His Patroclus, soft and pliant, quivering underneath him like a plucked string. 

“I want you,” Patroclus breathed, threading his fingers through Achilles’ hair. “Please, I want you now.”

His pleading tone stoked the fire that was already burning inside him. Achilles carefully dragged his fingers out, then reached for the vial once more. His own cock was slick and glistening with oil when he pressed it against Patroclus’ entrance. Patroclus brought his legs up, wrapping them around Achilles’ waist, holding on to his shoulders as Achilles pushed inside him slowly, inch by agonising inch. 

Pleasure rolled over Achilles, a quick rush that left him panting when he was enveloped in wet, velvet heat. “You’re so tight,” he groaned, pressing their foreheads together as he sank deeper inside him with every thrust. “Gods, you feel amazing- Patroclus-”

“Yes-” Patroclus’ head fell back on a moan when Achilles picked up his pace. He pressed the back of his hand over his mouth again to stifle his gasps, his slender back arching underneath him as Achilles pushed deeper. Achilles groaned softly when he was sheathed to the hilt, when their hips were flush against each others’. They were close, as close as two people could be, melding into one. There were no barriers between them, and there never would be. There was nothing in the world but Patroclus, arching and trembling underneath him, moaning and gasping for more, more of him. Achilles would give him all of him. Everything. 

Patroclus gasped when Achilles hooked an arm under his knee to bring it over his shoulder, thrusting more urgently against him. He tucked his face in the crook of Achilles’ neck, biting down on his skin to drown out his moans. Achilles’ name was a breathless whisper on Patroclus’ lips, a plea, a benediction. It rolled over Achilles like the tide that washes over rocks, engulfs them. He was swept away by it, his mind turning hazy with desire. 

“You and me,” Achilles whispered, pushing harder against him, drowning in the shared warmth of their embrace. He reached down between them to wrap his palm around Patroclus’ length, stroking him in time with his thrusts. “It will always be like this. You and me, and nothing else.”

“Yes," Patroclus whispered, holding his gaze. His mouth, when he leaned up to kiss him, was a sacred offering, a solemn promise, a token of their bond. And Achilles took it, kissing him desperately, breathing the air from his lungs. It was a hurried, dizzying dance, the way his tongue glided alongside Patroclus' while they rocked against each other, Patroclus meeting him thrust for thrust. They were one; one body, one mind, one being, two flames that met to create a fire. Patroclus' eyes shone with tears of pleasure when he looked up at him, arms and legs tightening around him. "You and me, Achilles. Forever. You and me- you-" Patroclus’ bitten, pomegranate coloured lips fell open on a moan, his entire body tensing as he shuddered, spilling helplessly over Achilles’ hand. He squeezed his eyes shut, dark eyelashes caressing his cheekbones as he trembled and trembled, unravelling in his arms like a ball of twine. 

Achilles followed him soon after, the pleasure inside him soaring to something uncontrollable. He drowned out his moans and gasps against Patroclus’ skin, letting everything he was crumble, dissolve in the warmth of that sweltering embrace, in the arms that held and pulled him close, until all that was left was him. Him. Only him, in the entire world. 

The crackling of the fire and the beat of Achilles’ pulse in his ears were the only sounds for a long moment as they both caught their breaths. Achilles kissed the side of Patroclus’ neck, salty with the first sheen of sweat now, before rolling on his back beside him. The embers of their fire glowed warmly, painting the side of Patroclus’ body in deep reds and golds. His eyes were closed when he hummed softly and shifted to curl against Achilles’ side. 

“If I’d known you liked pomegranates that much,” he whispered with a smile, fingers gently tracing the line of Achilles’ collarbone, “I would have brought you some sooner.”

Achilles chuckled softly, gathering him against him. His body fit perfectly in his own, like a key to a lock. “And where would the fun in that be?” He leaned down to kiss him once more, his lips still flushed and tender from passion. “Hm?”

Patroclus beamed at him. “There’s still plenty of ripe pomegranates on that tree. We should go there tomorrow and gather some more. But next time…” He pushed Achilles down on the furs and climbed on top of him, straddling him. He was grinning, holding Achilles’ wrists pinned up above his head. “You’ll be the one covered in pomegranate juice.” 

Achilles huffed a laugh, brushing his nose over Patroclus’. The want in him had ebbed, and there was only warmth now, the tender caress of their shared breath on his skin. He leaned up and kissed Patroclus’ triumphant smile, tasting the tart sweetness that still lingered on his tongue, revelling in the familiar, intoxicating feel of him. 

“I look forward to it,” he whispered.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated <3
> 
> I'm [JohaerysLavellan on Tumblr](https://johaeryslavellan.tumblr.com/). Come say hi!


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